“What the fucking hell is that? A gizzard?” Miki curled his lip in disgust when a darker crimson mass slithered free of the back, oozing out in a sticky rush. It fell apart when its tissue caught on the rough cement, exposing the crushed remains of a man’s fingers it’d been wrapped around.
They looked like they’d been chewed off. He could count at least six pieces, each nearly bleached white from blood loss, but Miki couldn’t be sure how many there actually were. The skin at each joint was frayed, exposing pink-tinged bone, and the three tips that had nail beds were empty of the actual fingernails, bits of torn cuticle clinging to the depressed, pale surfaces.
Choking back the bile hitting the roof of his mouth, Miki gritted his teeth and made it as far as the garage before losing his coffee on the sidewalk. In the time it took him to dial Kane’s cell, he threw up twice more, his stomach twisting on nothing as he gagged. Panting through his mouth, he listened to Kane’s phone ring, and then sighed in relief when the cop’s deep, Irish-soft voice murmured hello.
“Kane.” Miki swallowed, tasting nothing but bitter and horror on his tongue. “I… um… need some help, man. I think that asshole left pieces of someone on my porch.”
Chapter 8
Hey baby girl, smiling at me so wide.
Much too young for what you have in mind.
Come see me in a few years, and then we can talk.
I’ll show you how to scream, scream yourself blind.
—Keep Walking
THERE were only so many ways Miki could say he didn’t know, and after talking to at least five cops, he was pretty sure he was done. The first one to respond had been a walrus-mustached man who looked more like he’d belong to Jim Rose’s Freak Show, swallowing swords, than wearing a uniform.
He wasn’t amused when Miki pointed that little fact out to him.
By the time Kane got there, he’d already been chewed up and spit out by four more officers, each more suspicious than the one who’d questioned him before. The final cop was another detective, a skinny Asian woman who flared her nostrils at Miki when he admitted he tossed his cookies before calling Kane.
Explaining why he didn’t dial 911 but instead called his own detective earned him all kinds of filthy looks, and refusing to let them go into his house, where Dude was slamming himself against the glass to get at the cops outside, didn’t gain him any friends either.
Miki practically threw up again in relief when Kane’s SUV pulled down the long asphalt drive in front.
He’d never really seen the man in full cop mode. Wearing faded jeans and a black leather jacket over a white button-up shirt he left open at his throat, Kane still screamed cop when he got out of the car. His boots crunched on the specks of gravel the pavers left behind at the edges of the asphalt. His badge glinted when his jacket moved to his stride, broadcasting his Inspector rank to the cops around him. Nodding once at Miki, Kane then barked out a few questions, hammering at the uniforms in succession until it appeared one of them gave him what he asked for.
Fuck, the man was sexy. Even his wayward dick knew it, and Miki was more than willing to agree with it.
Kane’s face didn’t betray a single shred of emotion as he inspected the contents of the plastic bag. Instead, he queried the man documenting the evidence. The only time Miki could see Kane losing any bit of his stern countenance was when one of the cops asked him about Miki having his cell phone number.
“That’s personal,” Kane responded smoothly, but his eyes sought Miki out when he said it, and they burned through him, a sizzling blue heat that promised more than hand-holding and whispers if ever he got the chance. “See if we can get some prints off the digits. Mark off the homeowner’s purge, and see if there’s any other trace in the area. I’m going to talk to St. John.”
Miki stood to the far side of the garage, hugging himself as Kane approached him. The cop’s fingers ghosted over his bare forearm, and he ducked his head, smiling at the touch. “Don’t kiss me. I puked. Apparently I throw up when people leave dead bodies or parts of dead bodies near my house.”
“I’d kiss you anyway, but I’m on duty,” Kane said solemnly. “Okay, that and you puked. How are you doing?”
“Okay, I guess.” Miki waved at the battalion of cops that seemed to be cluttering up his sidewalk. “I’m thinking of opening up a doughnut shop. It seems like I’d get steady business.”
“Your sense of humor’s still crap,” he replied dryly. “So I guess that’s good, since nothing’s changed.”
“Were there really… um… you know… in the bag?” He’d heard one of the techs whispering about what Miki had thought was a gizzard. “The guy said it was—”
“They’re kidneys. I know what they looked like, but the tech said they’re cow kidneys,” Kane cut him off with a shake of his head. “Don’t throw up on me again. You’re going green.”